The Affair for Affairs Affair
by Darklady
Summary: The Stazi orders Illya Kuryakin to "compromise" Napoleon Solo. UNCLE orders Solo to let himself be "compromised". What are the two loyal partners to do? Let's just say they... compromise. Silly slashy spy antics with a light touch of romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One - Internal Affairs**

"Mr. Waverly?" Napoleon Solo stood at the office door.

"Ahhh" The older man closed the file he was reading, setting it with the others on the ominously large pile that occupied the right hand side of his desk. "Mr. Solo. Come in." Opening a fresh folder, he pulled out a single sheet of paper, which he passed to Napoleon. " I have a rather urgent request here. From General Strasenhaur of the Stazi.

Napoleon scanned it without expression. "They want Illya back."

"In a sense. General Strasenhaur has a situation with...well, we'll get to that later. But along with THRUSH - which is why it is an UNCLE matter - it involves both the Russian's and the British. Which means the matter may need a... delicate touch. Thus the request for a Russian agent." Waverly arched one eyebrow. "Perfectly legitimate, of course."

"Of course."

"They've suggested Mr. Kuryakin return to handle the matter." Waverly continued sotto voice. "Because of his 'prior experience'."

Napoleon said nothing - but the way he tossed the letter back on Waverly's desk spoke volumes.

"On the surface a legitimate request, Mr. Solo."

"Since when was the Stazi ever on the surface? Or legitimate, for that matter?" He stood sharply. "I assume we are to be desperately busy elsewhere. Quite unexpectedly, of course."

"Not exactly."

"You can't..." Napoleon began.

"Sit down, Mr. Solo." Waverly unearthed a folder of what were clearly briefing papers. "It is not advisable to annoy a cooperating agency without reason."

Napoleon said nothing. Nor did he take the folder.

"At the same time," Waverly continued, "I would hate to subject Mr. Kuryakin professional ethics to any undue stress."

"So?"

"So - out of concern for General Strasenhaur's 'pressing' need, I am assigning not only Mr. Kuryakin, but another senior agent as well. The Chief of Hemispheric Enforcement."

"Won't break up the set, eh?" Napoleon picked up the folder.

"The man can hardly complain when I give him more than he demands."

"Evil." Napoleon flashed his trademark smile. "Clever, but evil. I can envision Strasenhaur's face when he finds out. Those German's hate to work with anyone they don't own."

"Yes, well..." Waverly fumbled for his pipe.

"Well?"

Waverly reached for his humidor. "We must anticipate that - given the circumstances - they will try to acquire that ownership."

"Sir. You can't think..."

"I can think any number of things, Mr. Solo. And just now I think we shall let them succeed."

"Sir!"

"Be reasonable, Mr. Solo." The older man sifted out a pinch of his invariable Isle of Dogs. " The East German's will not work with you comfortably unless Strasenhaur believe he has _some_ leverage. So he will continue to probe for a weakness until he either finds or creates one."

Napoleon glowered as Waverly made a show of tamping down his tobacco. But he didn't debate the point. Because it was all too evidently true.

"In addition to the obvious inefficiencies they is always the risk to UNCLE should he somehow succeed." Waverly picked up the discarded letter and neatly slid it back into its proper file. "No. I believe we will all be better served if the General is given a 'scandal' of our choosing."

"Very well." Napoleon shifted uneasily. "I suppose I can take the next bribe."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Solo. I rather doubt that would suffice." Striking a match, he drew on the pipe until it lit. "Your creativity with an expense account is legend - and UNCLE has not punished you yet. Besides, Strasenhaur is communist enough to believe all Westerners are openly corrupt."

"Then...?" Napoleon considered briefly. "He'll probably send a woman."

"Please. Mr. Solo." Waverly waved off that option, sending a waft of blue smoke though the room. "Your reputation there is even more legendary."

"Well," Napoleon frowned. "I don't _**do**_ politics, so if we cut out money and ignore sex..."

"Oh, we can't ignore sex, Mr. Solo."

"Sir?"

"It's still his most probable channel." Waverly leaned back, clearly enjoying his pipe - and the conversation. "Just not a woman. You sleep with any woman, and no one would believe UNCLE would object. A man, on the other hand? That might raise some eyebrows. Therefore, of course, Strasenhaur might think it gave him leverage. If we can persuade him of your appropriate - or should the term be inappropriate - interest."

"Me?" The brown file cover crumpled in Napoleon's fist. "With a man?"

"I trust you can persuade him you are vulnerable. Because otherwise....?" Waverly left the rest unspoken.

Napoleon reached for his tie, which was suddenly suffocatingly tight. "Very well, sir. If duty demands."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - Interdepartmental Affairs**

"Comrade Kuryakin." The uniformed man stood as Illya approached. "I am glad you got my message.

"General Strasenhaur." Illya held out his hand. "You know, my hotel _does_ have a telephone."

"And so many ears to listen to it."

And how many of them yours? Illya was tempted to ask. But that would be unprofessional, and as yet the General had done nothing to earn such discourtesy from one who was - at least in theory - an allied agent.

They shook briefly.

"Very well." Illya sat lightly on the front of the visitor's seat. Not that the chair was designed for comfortable lounging - any more then the rest of the Berlin office. "As you went to all this effort, I assume the matter is important."

Given that the German's were willing to impose on both UNCLE and the KGB? Illya assumed the matter was desperate.

"You have been assigned to recover the missing nuclear codes which the British occupiers have seemed so carelessly to misplace."

No great secret, since the Germans had requested his help. Illya noted that the General did not mention the _**Russian**_ codes, which had also gone missing. If the American's had been equally careless - and Illya was inclined to assume they had - THRUSH would have the match to a particularly volatile power keg.

But, of course, to blame the 'friendly' Soviet nation would be politically incorrect.

"And I will do so." Illya's eyes narrowed. "If you think I would divert them…" Then Strasenhaur was a fool - and worse than that a clumsy fool. One did not mention treason to an agent that was not - however close the political ties - a countryman.

"No. No." Strasenhaur backed off quickly. "I wish you every success. The German Democratic Republic is threatened enough without bringing these foul birds into the mix."

True. For once, Illya was inclined to believe that Strasenhaur was speaking the truth.

"Then why?" Had the General bothered to call him in, was the unspoken conclusion.

The General shuffled though some papers on his desk. Distraction, Illya assumed. "Your partner, Mr. Solo, has also been assigned. Would it be possible to change that arrangement?"

Ah yes. Illya had suspected it would be something like that. "Not without more questions then would prove politically expedient. If you have something to hide, I suggest you hide it well _before _UNCLE becomes involved."

Not that Illya expected that. Strasenhaur most likely wanted Solo gone on general principles. A Russian agent might not share secrets with an East German, but at least the East German could take faith that Russian would be even less generous with western allies. An American, on the other hand? They were over trusting - and over vocal - at the best of times.

More papers joined the stack. "We simply would prefer to have some _leverage_ over Mr. Solo."

"You and half the world." Illya kept his tone neutral. The words were warning enough.

"But..." Strasenhaur hesitated. "After so long an acquaintance?"

Illya sat even straighter. "If Agent Solo has any secrets from UNCLE, they are also secret from me. Because, I assure you...

"You would report any lapses immediately. Understood."

"I doubt that." Illya leaned forward, ice blue eyes locked on the other man's. "He is my _**partner**_. Any failure on his part would endanger me directly. In my own self interest I must ensure his commitment to UNCLE's mission."

The general gave Illya a careful look. "So then money..?"

Illya relaxed back onto the hard armed chair. "He gets it. He spends it. He doesn't care about it."

"Drugs?"

"We have better." Illya waved off the idea. "An addicted agent is simply maintained until cured. It might damage his efficiency rating, but beyond that...?"

"Politics?"

"In an American!?" One raised eyebrow conveyed Illya's general amusement at the improbability. "They barely manage to _vote_, much less..."

"Understood"

After a silence, Strasenhaur suggested "Women?"

"Constantly. Some nights I wonder if he knows a bed is to sleep in."

"So if I was to arrange…?"

"Don't be ridiculous." This time Illya didn't bother with courtesy. "Napoleon Solo would sleep with anything female - from the Queen Mother to the Commissar of Women - but if you photographed him he would want it autographed." Illya considered that for a moment. "And he would send copies to the to the other departments heads in an office memo."

There was a long silence, broken only be the brush of papers sliding back into their binder.

"Perhaps?" Strasenhaur rubbed his chin. "Men?"

"Men!"

The General nodded. "Men."

"Dangerous" was Illya's automatic and most honest response. "But?" He paused. Any action against an agent on Napoleon's level was self-evidently dangerous. A fact they both knew. So? "Perhaps. He is less a puritan than most Americans. More curious. If the option were presented at the right time? In the right way?" Illya ran his fingers over his forehead in a gesture of deep consideration. Then he looked up. "Who did you have in mind as the starling?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - International Affairs**

Napoleon smiled.

Illya understood. His turn to buy the beers.

Illya reached for his wallet, checking that he had the appropriate bills. Not much chance of getting his change in the chaos that filled the Blockshock tonight. Not much chance of getting a waitress either. The West German music scene was the wildest in Europe, and this club was the hottest spot in West Berlin.

The Russian stood, intending to make his way to the tourist-thronged bar.

Personally. Illya would have chosen somewhere far quieter - and substantially more expensive - to lure his American partner. Strasenhaur either hadn't read Napoleon Solo's file, or his department was under budget constraints. Whichever the cause, Illya had been ordered to bring Napoleon Solo here on this particular night.

That order was too innocent to be ignored, and likewise too simple to be misunderstood. He - and thus Napoleon - had seen no choice but to sacrifice their evening to the cause.

"Illya!" A musical voice called over the din. A beautifully feminine figure cut skillfully thought the crowd. And right on time.

"Helga!" He returned the greeting as she slid with practiced ease into his arms.

A brief hug and then... "You should meet Klaus." She waved over a spectacularly handsome young man. "We're staying at the Bregenz."

"Together?" Illya asked loudly.

"Just friends." She pitched her voice to be heard easily over the roar of the busy restaurant.

Illya turned casually back to the table. "Napoleon, this is Helga Schmidt. An old school chum from my Cambridge days, and her friend Klaus." His wave invited the pair to join the table. "This is my partner, Napoleon Solo."

"Partner, eh?" She leaned closer to Illya as the handsome young newcomer slid onto the bench seat beside Napoleon. "I hope he won't mind if I borrow you for one dance?"

"Not at all." Napoleon answered, sending her his most devastating 'as long as I'm next' grin.

"So." Illya began cheerfully. "What have you been doing in the..." As soon as they left earshot his voice changed. "Last few days. And who is..."

"One of our best." Helga answered, careful to keep the hard edge in her voice off her face. "If we have any chance of trapping the elusive Napoleon Solo, he is the man."

They moved together on to the dance floor, buying the brother time to do his work.

*********************

As Illya and Helga finished their dance, a pair of uniformed Polizei entered the restaurant. Walking quickly to Solo's table, they took their place on either side of his guest.

"Excuse me, sir?" The taller man asked Klaus.

"Yes, officer?" The young man reluctantly released his hold on Solo's knee.

The policeman flashed his badge. "If you would come with me?

"I don't understand." Klaus made a very convincing show of confusion. "What is....?

"Misha Appenstrass, we have evidence that you are a THRUSH agent. You are under arrest for espionage."

"What! Impossible!" The outrage in Klaus's voice, if feigned, would have been worthy of an Oscar. "I am NOT Misha Appenstrass, and..." Klaus reached instinctively for his wallet.

"Please, sir." The policeman stepped closer, one hand going to his weapon. "Keep your hands were I can see them."

Klaus stood. "This has got to be some mistake!"

"Just be straight with them." Napoleon patted the younger man's arm comfortingly. "I'm sure they'll work it out down at the station."

When Klaus hesitated, Napoleon squeezed his shoulder. "We can always make that date the next time I'm in town, right?"

"What the..." Helga hissed, watching the arrest over Illya's shoulder.

"Go!" Illya whispered back. "Follow him. Bail him out if you must..." The moved quickly to the far side of the dance floor, concealed briefly by the their bodies. Illya held out his hand. "And give me your hotel key."

She froze as his hand slid into her purse. "What are you going to do?"

Illya gave her a grim look before pushing her towards the door. "Salvage this mission."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - External Affairs**

"Empty." Illya Kuryakin slid his special back into his shoulder holster. "At least in terms of hostile personnel.

Using the key the Illya had 'accepted' from Helga Schmidt - and the matching key Klaus had already offered to Napoleon - the two agents had entered unobserved into the suite on the top floor of the Bregenz Hotel.

"Hmm," Napoleon Solo followed procedure and cautiously checked the backs of each empty closet for trap doors. No clothes, no identifying articles - although some of the toys tucked in the nightstands of the master bedroom had been... fascinating. Perfect textbook trap. Clearly no one had been living here. Not even briefly. As there were also no THRUSH minions lurking behind the walls waiting to take them captive?

He waited until Illya finished his likewise ritual sweep of the picture frames.

"That was probably a fishing expedition." Napoleon tested the connecting door. It was locked from the other side as well as this one. "I didn't like the look of your old friend Helga. I think she was out to seduce you."

"You think she works for THRUSH?" Illya asked carefully.

"Who else would try such a thing?"

"No one I can imagine."

Illya nodded. That was the most obvious conclusion, and no listener would expect Solo to reach any other.

"Let me check the bedroom. Yes" In a few moments the Russian agent was back, his right palm bearing a tiny gray box, and the left a miniature tape recorder. "In the headboard I found this recording device." Illya turned over the tiny microphone with a calmly professional interest. "There appear to have been some improvements in THRUSH design."

"Good work, Illya. As always." Napoleon slid the drapes aside gently, peering though the crack at the busy street below. Nothing particularly suspicious. At least, not for Berlin. "Do you think we should go back to our hotel?" he asked carefully. "If Helga planed to take you there it may be watched."

"True." Illya paused, clearly considering the question. "But to find another room at this hour?"

Napoleon checked the locks on the window. Perfectly solid. He stepped away. "They might watch ours room, but would even the most paranoid THRUSH watch their OWN agents?"

"Perhaps," Illya answered. "But tonight it is unlikely they would risk it. If you had seen anyone suspicious when you arrived with Klaus? Or Helga?" Illya had no need to finish the sentence.

"Very true. Klaus had asked me to come back here with him." Napoleon checked the door lock, then wedged it with a chair to be doubly safe. "So?" Evidently satisfied, he headed for the elaborate bar set in one corner of the well-furnished living room. "Do you think they poisoned the Scotch?"

"Probably not if they only wanted information." Illya reached past his partner, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. "Just in case? Stick to the brandy."

*********************

Two hours later anyone watching would have observed an American agent who was getting very drunk. And very amorous. And a Russian agent who was extremely cooperative with both goals.

Four hours later they would have observed no movement at all. But the evidence they would observe would have been damning. The train of discarded clothing lead from the sofa (ties and jackets) to the nightstand (belts and trousers) to the bathroom (everything else) and finally to the two agents themselves. Those last two were quite unconscious, and quite unclothed, and quite intertwined in the middle of the satin-sheeted mattress.

When General Strasenhaur, a few hours after that, finally retrieved the camera concealed in the decorative molding, the Stazi officer would be very satisfied indeed. Almost as satisfied as the two men he had photographed.

Klaus had been careless - or perhaps just unlucky. (The distinction did not matter, as either way he would be severely punished.) Helga had been careless and too easily flustered. Illya Kuryakin, however, had done his service proud. He had salvaged the mission, moving quickly and without regard to personal cost. Strasenhaur made a note to call Moscow and recommend the agent for yet one more Order of Lenin.

UNCLE was more fortunate than Strasenhaur hoped they would ever realize, having a man like that in their ranks. The General only wished there could be more like him.

*********************

It was early morning before there was any further movement in the room.

"Wake up, Napoleon." Illya called out, identifying himself before he shook his partner's shoulder. "I have to report in." The blonde man slid from the bed. "You should shower and meet me at the Berlin UNCLE Headquarters for lunch."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - Foreign Affairs**

It was another morning meeting at General Strasenhaur's office - but this time Illya Kuryakin was not in a mood to listen politely. And it showed.

"No excuses, General!" Not quite a shout - but the emphasis on the words cut like a knife. Illya paced a path from the desk to the wall, then back. "The agent you sent was incompetent."

"But..." Strasenhaur hesitated. The wrong word now could be more then a social blunder. This agent was, after all, high in two agencies. "You did seduce him. I have the pictures."

"I did what was necessary to salvage the mission." Illya spun. "But doing so made the mission itself a danger. Now the evidence we could use against Solo could be turned against us, should Solo manage to convince Waverly that he needed to insure my loyalty."

True. But? Keeping one eye on the irritated Russian, General Strasenhaur began, "It was you're choice to continue the operation. We could have..."

"Delayed? Tried again?" The blond man made the word a curse. "And permitted Solo to become suspicious?" Illya picked up the single file on Strasenhaur's desk, pulling out the dozen black and white photos. Not one of them could have been published in even the most liberal magazine - Russian or American. And if they had been so published the least of them would have led to prison or disgrace for the men who appeared in them. Which was, of course, their purpose.

"It is dangerous to play games against men of his abilities." Illya continued. "Lethally dangerous." He flung the incriminating pictures on the desk. "For now, Solo believes this was a THRUSH operation. I suggest he NOT be disillusioned."

"But" The General shifted back, almost wincing in his chair. If they could not use the evidence, then why...?

"If at some future time you _must_ use those photos, say that they were captured from a THRUSH satrapy."

"Excellent suggestion." Strasenhaur fumbled for his pen. "I will note that in the file." He took the chance to slide the evidence back onto the folder. From his shaking hands, it was clear that the General was now wishing there was some way to hide away the events themselves.

"As for Mr. Solo," Illya continued in a calmer voice. "I believe I can control any further advances." After a moment, Illya muttered. "I hope." Taking a deep breath, as if to steel him self for some great task, he picked up the now-sealed file. "If not?" He gave Strasenhaur a calculating look. "There are - possibilities."

"Very useful possibilities, Agent Kuryakin." Strasenhaur agreed swiftly. Both to end the conference, and because they both were deep enough in their peculiar business to know that Kuryakin spoke the truth. Friendship was well and good, but for real leverage? Over an agent of Solo's caliber? Greater recourses then one outside agent had been sacrificed. Often. And gladly.

Even so, Strasenhaur hoped the sacrifice would never be needed. He respected Kuryakin. Deeply. Not many Russian agents would endure so much to protect a 'lesser' agency. Here indeed was the true and selfless 'new man' of the socialist world.

Well, Strasenhaur decided, he would do what he could. At the very least, he would classify this matter at the very highest levels of state secrecy. "I'm just sorry that you..." Standing, the General opened his high-security safe and set the file inside. "I promise such a sacrifice will never be asked again."

"Nonsense, Comrade General." Illya said briskly. "We all must do our duty. However hard."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - Domestic Affairs**

Illya looked out over the lights of Paris. It was a magnificent city. All the more so when viewed from a luxury suite on the highest floor of the Hotel Meurice. The unusual luxury was Mr. Waverly's reward to his top agents for resolving the Berlin matter without triggering either diplomatic outrage or World War III.

A pleasant gesture, Illya thought, if far from the greatest reward of their cunning. But then, one did not join the intelligence services - much less UNCLE - for the material benefits. There were far easier ways to gain a comfortable life. And far more comfortable lives to be gained.

Still, he could not deny the personal satisfactions that came from a job well done. Especially this one.

"Champagne, Napoleon?" Illya raised one questioning eyebrow as his partner carefully folded a napkin over the top of the flower painted bottle. Of course, he conceded, the physical pleasures did have their place.

"Only appropriate, wouldn't you say?" With a quick twist Napoleon silently popped the cork and poured the pale wine into two elegant crystal flutes.

"Appropriate for a lovesick fool." The blond man's tone was dry - almost harsh - but he did not refuse the offered glass.

"Lovesick, I would agree." Napoleon joined his partner on the balcony. "But never foolish." He bent down, tasting the fine wine on his partner's lips.

"Napoleon!" Illya pulled away, but just slightly. "If anyone were to see you..."

"What could they do? I am operating under orders to seduce you - and you are operating under orders to seduce me. One can hardly be criticized for obeying orders… enthusiastically."

"Tell that to the accounting department. They may view your bar bill with less enthusiasm." Still, Illya had visibly relaxed.

"Tonight I feel like celebrating." Napoleon raised his own glass to the light, mentally comparing the pale gold of the wine with the equal richness of his partner's hair. Illya and champagne. They were in many ways similar. Dry, nuanced, sophisticated. Perhaps an acquired taste. But if so a taste he had most certainly acquired. "You were brilliant." Napoleon took a sip of his wine. "I was brilliant." Another sip. Held and savored. "And now we are both eternally in the clear."

Giving Illya a wicked grin, he continued. "Waverly's orders are in my file. General Strasenhaur's concurrence is in yours. If anyone should... question... us in the future?"

Illya's smile was equally wicked. "We were only following orders?"

"Exactly."

Illya raised his glass. "To orders."

"To orders." The American agent answered the toast, tapped his champagne glass lightly against the other, enjoying the musical chime of flawless crystal. "As long as they require us to do exactly what we want to do."

They drank.

Napoleon leaned forward, lips soft, but Illya held him back. "Still, it would not do to be..."

"Indiscrete?" Napoleon stepped back into the room, waiting for Illya to follow. "I know." He shut the balcony doors. "I wouldn't want to give either side more leverage over either of us. Still?"

This time it was Illya who stepped into the kiss. "We were brilliant, were we not?"

"As always."

There was a very long pause before either man had their lips free to speak.

When they could again speak, it was Napoleon who offered the next toast. "To a brilliant operation."

Illya laughed. "By two brilliant men."

"Brilliantly in love."

They drank.

They kissed.

A few minutes later the distant lights of Paris were the only lights in the room.

*********************

**HARDLY FINISHED - BUT THE STORY IS OVER.**

©KKR 2009


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